Caryn sent a message to Marvin R. Ellison – President of J. C. Penney Company Inc.- email address that said:
Sir,
The state of your customer service department might need some attention. First let me commend the excellent assistance of Amber (cashier in Columbia SC) and Jason (by telephone to the recovery department). They were the only bright spots in my four hour quest to prove to your company that I am not dead.
My saga began this morning at the checkout counter with Amber. She discovered that my JCP card wouldn't process and called customer service from her desk phone (and even she had to wait through five minutes of prompts and holds). They were stumped. Over the next 30 minutes the two of us spoke to 3 different customer service agents, were put on hold three or four times for well over five minutes each time, and were transferred to an offshore office with poor connectivity and a polite but heavily-accented woman whom I could barely understand. I was led to believe that in the entire JC Penney corporation, there was NO ONE available to access the special kind of help that I needed. The "specialist" was out. The manager was busy. I suppose it takes a high level of authority to resurrect a dead customer...of course, at this time I didn't even know about my own passing and neither did they. At one point, I was told that someone would mail me a letter within 30 days explaining the mystery of why my account was frozen. At another point, and I kid you not, one of the several agents I spoke to offered me condolences on the death of my husband. Apparently, reports of the mass demise of my entire family have been running amok throughout JCP headquarters. And no one even sent flowers! But I digress...
Finally, someone named Adam was able to inform me of my lifeless condition. He told me all the credit bureaus were reporting me as deceased. Imagine my panic. Although I believed myself to be in possession of a strong pulse, I was worried about how my expired status might impact my upcoming mother-daughter vacation to Disney. Not only would a cadaverous parent be a significant downer for my child, but I was (in all seriousness) quite alarmed at the potential for credit card malfunction while on the road. I sat down at a table near the JCP entrance to call the credit bureaus, who are VERY unfond of putting live people on the phone for panicked customers. Pretty soon I was in tears. Literally. Sobbing in the middle of the mall because I could not find one live person willing to solve my grave predicament (I came up with that pun just now. At the time, I was crying too hard to be witty.)
After the crying plus at least another half hour of effort, I found someone at Experian who was able to clear things up. JCP and three of its sister companies had reported my death to all the credit bureaus on June 27. Very interesting. I knew this date to be exactly 3 days after a JCP customer service agent named Lori closed the account I had held jointly with my ex-husband. Lori was also supposed to handle my final payment of $34.79 on that account. Lori, Lori, Lori, I don't know what possessed you to instead execute a ten-cent payment and a death certificate rather than the simple transactions I requested, but there you have it.
Four hours later, I think the solutions to my problems are underway, thanks to Jason. I have given my name, address, phone number, account number, social security number, shoe size and life story approximately 15 times during those four hours. Jason tells me it will take 5-7 days for my good name to be resurrected, and then I'll have to call customer service again. I will be asking that the remaining balance of $34.69 (which Lori left behind) be wiped clean. And honestly, I wouldn't object to free clothes for life -- a long and happy life unhindered by false death reports.
Weary but breathing deeply,
Caryn
